


What He Hath Made Crooked

by Minutia_R



Category: Hebrew Bible
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minutia_R/pseuds/Minutia_R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In Israel, any man with uncombed hair may name himself a prophet, and anoint any ambitious general king in the name of God, but the people of Judah will only follow a son of David.  And only Jehosheba, and Jehoiada, and my nurse knew that that was not what I was.  So I, Koheleth, was king in Jerusalem.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	What He Hath Made Crooked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CatherineP](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=CatherineP), [kynical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kynical/gifts).



> I wrote this story as a birthday present for CatherineP, but I got the idea for it from a prompt by kynical, and I wanted to acknowledge that, as well as possibly get the story in front of people who might be interested.
> 
> I realize that _historically_ it's next to impossible for Joash to have written the book of Ecclesiastes, and only slightly more likely that he was a woman (or female-bodied, or whatever). At . . . at least I didn't attribute it to Solomon?

_Consider the work of God: for who can make straight, what He hath made crooked?_

1\. _The woman whose heart is snares and nets_

When I was a year old, my father died at the hands of a soldier of Jehu, who became King of Israel, and my grandmother Athaliah ordered a massacre in the royal nursery. I have a memory of screams, and the smell of blood, of arms squeezing me too tight and carrying me too fast, and a hand over my mouth—maybe it is a memory, or maybe it is only something I invented, after hearing about it so often; a way to make the story my own.

My aunt Jehosheba had meant to grab my brother Joash. Any of the boys would have done. But in her confusion and desperate haste, she got me instead. She took me to the priest of God, Jehoiada, as proof of her failure, but he comforted her. It is not for men, he said, to question the ways of God. On that day, my brother Joash died, and I became Joash.

They needed somebody, you see. Athaliah followed in all the sins of her father Ahab; she built a house for the Baal in Jerusalem, and set an altar and a priest there, and she was cruel as her father besides. She did not love justice, but only power. In Israel, any man with uncombed hair may name himself a prophet, and anoint any ambitious general king in the name of God, but the people of Judah will only follow a son of David. And only Jehosheba, and Jehoiada, and my nurse knew that that was not what I was. So I, Koheleth, was king in Jerusalem.

2\. _A living dog is better than a dead lion_

I grew up hidden in the house of God: hidden from my enemies, who would have killed me, and from my friends, who would have abandoned me, and from myself. The priests who taught me the law, and the paths of wisdom, did not teach me what I was. I knew I was Joash son of Ahaziah of the house of David, and that I must keep myself secret; what need had I, as a child, to know anything else? I was only seven years old when they proclaimed me king in the house of God with trumpets and song, when they brought forth King David's spear and shields, and gave them to my guard.

Athaliah heard, and came to the house of God with her followers; I stood by the pillar with the crown on my head, and the priests and guard ranged around me, and I saw her for the first time. My grandmother, who had murdered all my house, the demon who had haunted my childhood. The wicked queen who had built the house of Baal when her son was king, and had dared to reign in her own name when he died.

She was a small woman, with grey in her hair beneath her jewels, and her voice was loud and commanding when she cried out treason. I tried to hold myself straight, but I am sure she saw me tremble. There was bloody work then, but they would not kill her or her men in the house of God; the captains of my guard laid hands on her, and dragged her to the Horse Gate, and killed her there.

When the people saw that she was dead, they raised a cheer, and bowed before me. I could not have said why I was more terrified than before.

3\. _Woe to thee, O land, when thy king is a child . . . through idleness of hands the house leaks_

Before my grandmother died, I used to wander the house of God—those parts of it permitted to laymen—and when I saw stones fallen and not replaced, or threadbare hangings, or poor supplicants forced to wait for hours to bring their meal-offerings, because there were not enough pans to go around, the priests would tell me, "This is the work of Athaliah, who has taken the tithes of the priests of God, and given them to the priests of Baal."

I was fourteen years old before I realized this was not true. When I came to the house of God to offer sacrifices, there was much pomp and polish and blowing of trumpets, but every time there were more stones fallen, more threads snapped, more weary pilgrims shuffled off to some side courtyard; and in the meantime the priests had grown fat. I ordered repairs, but they were never made.

I was too old, by then, to believe everything I had been told, and my aunt Jehosheba had answered some of my questions before she died. But it was many years before I felt secure enough in my reign to stop the tithes to the priests.

4\. _He by his wisdom saved the city; yet no man remembered_

I am the king who brought down the house of Baal, who stopped the tithes to the priests of God, who delivered up the treasures of the house of God to Hazael King of Aram; and those of my subjects who do not despise me for one of those things surely hate me for one of the others. The house of God stands bereft of its gold vessels to be sure, but the roof does not leak, and those pilgrims who come can make their offerings in due season; and Judah is whole and safe, while the Kingdom of Israel has been dismembered. But who cares for that?

I have heard, too, the whispers of my servants, though they think I do not. They say I am not what I should be, that my sons are not my own, that the lamp of David has been extinguished.

I swear by my life, it is not true. As I have grown older, I have not always agreed with Jehoiada the priest, but I still believe what he told my aunt all those years ago: Man's wisdom is small, but God's is great. And He swore to my ancestor David that his light would never fail, and it has not.

5\. _The dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it_

They come with knives. I know them: Jozacar son of Shimeath and Jehozabad son of Shomer, my servants. And this is what it has come to, all my labor under the sun.

My son Amaziah will reign after me, and who knows if he will be wise or foolish? I have tried to teach him, but he speaks of making league with Israel; in his heart he dreams of the days of glory when our kingdoms were united, and asks why they should not come again. It is not a wise question.

It is vanity, perhaps, to think of such things when my assassins are drawing back their hands to strike. I will die as men do, and as beasts do; I have done my work, and another will undo it.

The thing is ended; everything has been heard.

_For God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil._


End file.
